“It is bright,” assented Miss Lavinia.

“And the Saunders!  What a pity the girls cannot be invited without the boys.”

“The boys have always come before, Priscilla.”

Miss Limpenny groaned.  “To meet an Honourable, Lavinia!”

The leaven was working.

However, on the following Monday everybody was assembled in the little drawing-room.  The Vicar was there in evening dress; the doctor and his wife; Mr. Simpson and Mrs. Simpson in the crimson gown; the Saunders boys in carpet slippers (at sight of which Miss Limpenny went hot and cold by turns); the Misses Buzza in book-muslin, with ultramarine sashes and bronze shoes laced sandal-wise; their mother in green satin and deadly terror lest the Admiral’s voice should penetrate the party-wall.  Mr. Moggridge was frowning gloomily in a corner at some humorous story of Sam Buzza’s telling.  In short, with the exception of their Admiral, all Trojan society had gathered to do honour to the new-comers.

Miss Limpenny, nervously toying with her best brooch, rose in a flutter as the door opened and admitted them.

“So afraid we are late! but the clocks at ‘The Bower’ have not yet recovered from their journey.”

Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys gazed calmly about her.  There was a rustle throughout the room; two pink spots appeared on Miss Limpenny’s cheeks; she stumbled in her words of welcome.  The Vicar frowned and looked puzzled.

Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys wore a low-necked gown!

It was a shock; but it passed.  She was wonderfully pretty, all admitted, in her gown of a rich amber satin draped with delicate folds of black lace; around her white throat a diamond necklace glistened.  How well I can remember her as she stood there toying with a button of her glove!  And how mean and dowdy we all looked beside this glittering vision!

The Honourable Frederic Augustus Hythe Goodwyn-Sandys meanwhile stared at us all calmly but firmly through his eye-glass.  I saw young Horatio Saunders meet that gaze and sink into his carpet slippers.  I saw Mr. Moggridge frown terribly, and cross his arms.  Sam Buzza came forward—­

“Ah, how d’ye do?  How d’ye do, Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys?  Looking round for the governor?  He’s been in bed for a week.”

I think we all envied Samuel Buzza at this moment.

“Ah, nothing serious, I hope?” drawled Mr. Goodwyn-Sandys.

“Serious, ha, ha!  Haven’t you heard—­”

“Sam, dear!” expostulated Mrs. Buzza.

“All right, mother.  He can’t hear,” and Sam plunged into the story.

The ice was broken.  In a few moments a whist party was made up to include the Honourable Frederic, and Miss Limpenny breathed more freely.  Mr. Moggridge was led up by Sam, and introduced.

“Ah, indeed!  Mr. Moggridge, I have been so longing to know you.”

Sam looked a trifle vexed.  The poet simpered that he was happy.